Dead Eyes
by Etchings.On.Walls
Summary: Diana, an intelligent 32 year old woman, recently fled from the strings of violence in Los Angeles, California after the deaths of her six family members. With the wish for her to live, she searches for safety in odd places. Among her ceaseless traveling, she comes across a broken group, and uses her wits and strength to help them survive any obstacles headed their way.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: **Welcome to my first official story! I've recently begun watching the Walking Dead and am a fan of the TV Series, and unfortunately, I am unable to read the comics. But, my dedication to the series will hopefully erase any plot mistakes. Anyway, please excuse any grammar mistakes as I do not have a Beta reader. This story will be rated T first, and later M because of the utter violence within the series, and any other...romantic situations that may or may not occur. Please enjoy the read!**

**I do not own any Walking Dead characters except my own OC and her family.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Live Like a Phoenix<strong>

I killed my family.

That's really all I can think about, nowadays. They weren't even a part of the undead—my parents and sisters had total control of their minds…though who can fault them for wanting out of this hellish world?

I feel like a part of me wanted them to die, though. I'm a horrible, horrible person, but I knew that they weren't built for this "new" world. My youngest sister couldn't even handle tripping down the sidewalk without crying—how could I expect her to expertly handle a semi-automatic and shoot three living corpses in a ten-second window? My father, though a strong militarist and country born-and-bred, knew how to handle wild things, his old age wouldn't help him survive, and my mother would die of fright if she stepped out onto the blood coated streets.

Because of that, I guess I wasn't truly surprised when my dad asked me to kill them.

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><p>There were six of us stuck in downtown Los Angeles, California. Six members of my immediate family (plus two more, if you counted dogs), trapped in our shabby two-bedroom apartment, hearing and watching the chaos and bloodshed going down in the streets. Shouts and cries could constantly be heard—some whimpering from nearby rooms, some from my own 19-year old sister. I kept to myself, though, not daring to say any words of comfort to my wailing sister, fearing that I would trigger an anxiety attack among my siblings.<p>

Perched on the kitchen sink, I took a chance glancing outside the apartment building. Peering down my gun's scope, I watched as couples and families were torn apart—most literally. I couldn't keep my eyes away from the people-eating monsters tearing down my once commonly walked road, bile rising in the back of my throat as my eyes stalled over a young, healthy mother abandoning her three-year old child to corpses to live. _Disgusting._

_Watch your family, not them!_ I kept telling myself. _I need to keep them safe—the sooner the streets are empty the sooner I can get them to safety._ Eyes darting back and forth from person to "person," calculations kept running through my mind as I tried to analyze the best way to get to the freeway without being seen by those ungodly beings. Maybe my mother noticed my worry, for she soon walked unsteadily over to my perch after leaving the dogs behind with my father.

"Stop it, Diana." She smiled at me, though I could not detect any genuine trace of happiness. "You're so serious. You're worrying your sisters." _And me_, went the unspoken phrase.

I tried smiling at my sweet mother, though I'm sure it appeared like a grimace. "I'm just thinking—no need to worry, mamá. I'll get us through this."

She nodded, but it seemed like it was more for my benefit than for hers, and I took this chance to look over her aging features. I noticed that I could still find comfort in her salt-and-pepper colored hair and laugh-lined eyes, and my worry for the world eased when my mother strode towards me and eased the handgun down.

"I know the world is…different right now," at this I snorted, "but you need to keep a level-head. You are not expected to make decisions for us—we make those ourselves." I nodded, but my gaze kept straying to the windowsill.

At this, she smacked my arm. "I mean it. Those riots out there are not deaf to me or your father. This old woman understands more than you believe."

My eyebrows jumped from her remark in an automatic response, "Mom, you're not ol—".

"I'm fifty-nine, and I can't even walk to the kitchen without wanting to take a nap." Seeing me about to refute her remark once more, my mother gave me a warning look, and my mouth closed immediately.

Mom adjusted her glasses-frame, and quickly demanded, "Go check on your sisters. I need to speak with your father."

Unable to deny my mother, I pocketed my handgun and headed to the master bedroom, where the acoustic guitar could be heard playing. I paused in the hallway, savoring those good vibrations, until the sound abruptly quit.

"I can't do this anymore," whispered the voice of my 19-year old sister, Maria. _Do what_, I thought. "I can't—I can't stand those screams outside. I don't like it. They keep getting closer every time." My eyes narrowed at this, as over my worry, I failed to notice this.

"Neither can any of us, but something tells me that this is going to be a normal occurrence," replied the trembling tone of Sandra, the third oldest daughter in the family, only three years younger than my 32-year-old self.

At this, various sighs could be heard, none more dramatic than the eldest of Rosa's, who happened to turn 40 just this past week. "And something tells me that whatever is going on will only get worse from now." A small sniffle could be heard. "Quit crying, Teresa, you're nineteen, you should know that crying won't help us now."

Rosa never really was the most sympathetic of siblings, but she always pulled through for us when we needed a reality check. Nevertheless, I entered the room at her comment, intent on admonishing her for her careless attitude. I glared at her, yet she just ignored my silent demand to _quit it_.

"You know it too, Dee," My dark eyes fell at this, and Rosa continued on, "Don't try to sugarcoat it."

"I'm not," I replied, "But you should know better than to scare us. We could use a little hope right now," pointedly gazing into the common dark chocolate eyes that my mother passed onto us, silently reassuring each of my siblings that I was here for them.

"Diana's right, Rosa. You're too busy worrying about what you're gonna do about your next hair appointment, so quit trying to bring us down too," said Sandra. _Nice going, Sandra._ I thought as I looked over the rapidly reddening face of Rosa. _Now you've done it._

Rosa stood up, turned her back, and unexpectedly, walked straight out of the room and into the bathroom. It was odd, considering how she normally isn't afraid to say what she thinks, but somewhat understandable regarding the need for peace and quiet in this cramped room.

"Damn," whistled Sandra. "I've never seen her like that."

Maria turned her dark head towards Sandra, and bitingly replied, "She was supposed to get her haircut with her boyfriend's sister."

At this, shock pervaded the faces of me and Sandra, knowing that Rosa had lost both her boyfriend and best friend. _Death has never been so close. _"Think next time, Sandy," continued Maria.

Sandra sighed, beginning to get up from her position on the worn leather sofa. "I should say sorry."

"No," I instantly replied, "She needs time. We need to get the grief out of our systems before we can move on."

I knew how grief blinded people, and how dangerous it could be. Following in the military steps after my father, I served in the Air Force as a battle manager for five years, directing battle tactics towards flying troops. If any soldier lost a close comrade, a mission could be easily compromised, and it only took so many lost lives before the military could figure that out.

Sandra nodded, and Maria soon went back to crying. "And move your fat-ass off the couch, Sandra, that thing has had enough of your shit these years." At this, Maria giggled, and Sandra laughed, knowing I only said it to get rid of the lingering fear in the room. I grinned, beginning to leave the area after hearing the call for me to go to the living room.

"Be careful, Diana." I stopped my movements at the sound of Maria's young voice, wondering what the hell she was going on about. "Just… we love you. You'll take care of us, and we have faith in you."

At that, unexpected tears glistened in my eyes, and I doubled-back and hugged both Maria and Sandra. "It's just going to the living room, Maria. It's only like, 20 steps, not a damn mission to Afghanistan."

Sandra grinned, "We know."

Once again, my siblings and I laughed, and I wished that things could be that simple, where I would be in control of my soldiers rather than being another snack for the roamers out there.

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><p>"Diana," called out my father within a few short seconds of after entering the living room.<p>

"Sir." I answered, recognizing the tone of his voice not as a father, but a military commander.

He turned to face me, and although I was taller than his 5'5 frame, he still had the ability to intimidate anyone who came across him—including his own daughters. His stern expression and narrowed hazel eyes were only accentuated by his silvered hair, furthering my alarm by the seriousness he conveyed. Seeing me stand stock-straight at his attitude, however, he softened his posture as an attempt to get me to relax, I concluded. It worked.

"I'm sorry." My brows furrowed, believing he had nothing to apologize for. "Sorry for having myself and this family relying on you so much." I shook my head at this remark—any decent person would prioritize their family first and foremost. "I'd carry some of the burden myself, but with my age…I can only plan. And you're old man's not very good at that."

I grinned wryly, knowing he was more of a man of action than words. That's always been evident, while my mother was the brains of the family. I'd inherited the best from both worlds, with my ability to stick out any physical confrontation from my father and simultaneously use my wits to secure any goal from my mom. I knew this because I was told that when my parents first met, my father was fighting with people at a trashy bar, while mom used her assets (or more specifically, her ass) to calm the men down. Not soon after, or so I've been told, my dad kept following my mother around, and when she retorted in Spanish to leave her alone, he replied back in the same language. And when that eventually led to a relationship, mom soon became pregnant out of wedlock. They had my bastard brother (literally and figuratively), and thus began the start of my currently family.

"I wish your brother was here," Dad said wistfully as he stroked both of his German Shepherds.

I turned my head at this, choosing to ignore his comment. It's not that he was dead like thousands of others, but the douchebag abandoned our family even before this apocalypse. He'd never cared for any of his sisters, including me. He was the absent one, and soon my siblings and I forced ourselves to forget and ignore him, as he was only used to living a life of greed and violence, being in and out of jail multiple times. The "man" was a leech, using my parents to get money to use for his ridiculous antics, and quickly abandoning us soon after. Needless to say, my parents never stopped loving him, whereas I could never begin to.

"This family needs to be together now more than ever."

I agreed to this, though I saw no need for my brother to be here—I didn't even know if he was alive. If he was, he'd only cause trouble for the rest of us, I fervently believed.

My dad sighed, running his wrinkled hands down his face. "That being said, I need to know if you will do whatever it takes to keep this family safe."

I lifted my hand in a mock-salute, replying, "That goes unsaid."

My father lifted his dark eyes at me. "I need to hear it."

I sighed, the seriousness of the topic settling into my bones, "I will do whatever it takes to keep this family safe. If I need to kill someone… so be it." Father relaxed somewhat, but something beckoned me to ask, "What's going on? You know this family is my world." Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, as tension lined his features once more.

"You were the last of my daughters to come here."

I nodded, as when I had first heard of the so-called disease spreading across the country, I was on leave from the Air Force, and booked the first flight to LA to be with my family. The rest of my sisters had been there already, as they were valley girls and could not survive outside the life of the city. I was miles away in Georgia, living near Fort Benning in case my superiors decided to cut my leave short. And when that wasn't the case, I had chosen to wear my uniform, hoping that it would help me in getting a flight to California. Hectic, was the word I would use to describe the airport when I got there. People were leaving, crying, and screaming for their mothers—I had wanted to do the same, but when people would grab at my shoulders and demand an explanation for the disease, I could only shrug them off and reply, "Have hope. The CDC is working on a cure." What a crock of shit—I knew it, and people who looked towards me knew it too. I knew and my superiors knew that this virus was hopeless, and it was going to invade every aspect of life whether we wanted it to or not.

"We were together for a few hours before you came here, and we…talked." My father said.

"Talked about what?" I asked, wondering where he was getting at.

"I told them," he stated, though judging by my confused expression, he sighed in frustration and clarified his statement. "I told them that no matter how we die, we will become one of _them._"

My eyebrows jumped—only the military and CDC knew of this. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if one of his old military buddies told him about it.

"Joe told me." Of course. G.I. Joe, as we liked to call him, was always involved in the military, and was actually part of the reason for me to join the Air Force, though my father vehemently opposed it. "He told me before died two days ago."

I paused, already aware of Joe's death. "Was he bitten?" I asked.

"No. The man wasn't even scratched. In fact, he asked me to kill him if he were to turn." My father sat down on the loveseat at this comment. "I thought this was bull, but when I waited a few hours… sure enough, those damn eyes were staring at me, and he looked _hungry_."

I knew my father loved that man, as they were old war buddies, but if anyone were capable of killing their best friend, it would be him. "You shot him?" I questioned, wanting to confirm the action.

Dad nodded. "Just once, straight in the head. I mourned him, but it's better to celebrate his life than his death. Damn idiot just had to die from a heart attack, though." He laughed wryly at this, and quickly fell silent.

"But when I told your mother and sisters… they were worse off than I was." My father looked haunted at this comment, and continued on, "They said, 'What's the point of living, then? Nothing we do is gonna stop this plague!' I didn't know what to say. Even your mother couldn't figure it out.

"We hoped that by the time you showed up, they would have calmed down," said Dad.

I'd only just arrived this morning, and judging by the quickly darkening sky, it's only been about a day since he'd told them of the news.

"And?" I questioned. "Have they told you any differently?"

At this, my father held his breath, visibly calming himself down. "No."

And that word struck my heart like a thousand knives into a single piece of meat.

"Because of that," again my father paused, "we need to let you know our plans for you. All of us have decided that we don't want to live, and there is no speech on Earth that can help us now. You're my daughter, and I trust none more than you to ensure our deaths."

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><p>I couldn't breathe. What fucking father would ask that!? <em>Kill my family<em>! I'd sooner throw myself to the human-eating hordes of monsters than kill my only family. And yet, when I was stomping through the room to walk outside and perform that very action, I found that I could not.

_Why?_ I asked myself. _Because you want to live_.

How can I live with killing my family? I wondered, and I belatedly realized I had said that out loud when Maria came into the living room and answered that question.

"It's simple: You will live because we want you to, and we know that you can and deserve to survive this world more than anybody else."

I looked up at her, noticing her petite frame and skinny legs, her gangly arms brushing her straight dark-brown hair back to rid them of the salty moisture she couldn't seem to stop giving off. I watched as I saw her tears drip down her olive skin tone and onto her dirtied pink frilled shirt, helpless to stop the tears from flowing. For the first time, I saw no light in her eyes and no darkness either—simply nothing. Like my baby sister didn't even exist anymore. And that's when I realized that she truly has no hope for her future—and even if we were to survive this, how can we guarantee her our old life back?

"That's not true." I tried to convince myself. "Family sticks_ together._ We need to live _together_—I can't do this on my own." I choked back sobs, refusing to cry.

"Yes, _mi hija_, you can." My mother said, appearing from the hallway. She walked over to me and urged me to her 5 foot height, and began to hug and pat my head like when I was a child. "How many did you say you killed on your way to this _apartamento_?"

I shook the gathering tears in my eyes and steadily replied, "Seven, mamá."

"How long did it take to do that?"

"I don't know… few minutes. Maybe less." I couldn't see her point, and continued to rub at my cloudy eyes. _Stop it_. A voice told me. _They're not dead._

_They will be if they want me to go along with this._

Mom grinned proudly at me. "You were at the top of your squad in the Air Force, and as much as I didn't want you to go overseas, I knew you would survive." She laughed haughtily. "A mother knows these things."

Sandra, who'd been watching the entire ordeal, stepped in and added, "We were never truly scared when you were in the service. Just worried that you'd get hurt—Jesus, you'd never even fractured a bone! How could we expect you to die?"

I shook my head, hoping to get rid of negative thoughts. _I should be comforting them_.

_They're the ones who want to die. You will have no one when they leave, and you need as many words as you can get to get you through this._

_I'm going to be _alone_._

"You're too damn hard to kill. I should know, I tried to a couple of times," joked Rosa, who finally reappeared from the bathroom. I noticed her makeup was gone, and I much preferred this natural skin tone to the one painted upon her.

"I took care of you for eight years," continued Rosa, "and that entire time you always wanted to do things your own way. I nearly went insane from cleaning up the messes you made."

She hugged me as well, and pulled apart not too quickly afterwards, as she'd never been much of a hugger. "Dumbass, I want you to live for us. We're dying so you can live—stop it!" She snapped, looking at the tears streaming down my positively reddened face.

I guess that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Everyone in the room started crying, even my father, who'd always kept a silent vigil over the family. Now, though, he was damn proud of his tears. The dogs kept whining, pushing their heads at our legs and begging attention. I bent down and pet them, letting them lick away at the salt water present on my face.

"And if I don't want that? How do you all know that I won't kill myself after you're gone?" I soon said.

Silence struck the room, and my father tentatively replied, "We trust that you won't. You'll live for us, and like a phoenix rising from the ashes, our family will live forever with every action that you take."

"Do not blame yourself, Diana," came the gentle voice of my mother. "We're making our deaths an option—this is what we want. Know that even if you were not to do it, we would still find some other way."

And that brought up the question of, "Why me?"

Here, my sisters and parents grinned sadly at me. "Knowing that our lives were taken by your hand rather than those monsters out there…I'd feel much safer knowing that I won't become one of them," said Rosa.

I accepted that answer, though I knew that any statement involving their deaths would never make sense to me.

"When?" I whispered.

"The apocalypse isn't waiting for you—it's already happening. You need to get out of here as soon as you can. Big cities are never safe, but right now, grab supplies, find shelter, find weapons. Do not take what you have for granted—though whatever God wants from this, I believe the message is to survive and _live_."

My dad's words have never stuck in my mind more deeply than this, and against my will, I could already feel myself calculating and mentally checking what I will need to make it back to Fort Benning.

"_When_?" I demanded once more. "When do you want to die?"

I looked into the eyes of my family members, silently begging for an answer. When none replied, I knew that the answer was _now_.

"We've already taken sleeping pills. We'll fall asleep within the hour, and you need to leave then… after…" here, my mother sobbed and began muttering in Spanish.

My father's face came into view then, and he told me, "Ask us anything. Talk. Yell. Whatever you need to move on from us, and onto living."

And for the remaining hour that we had together, we did. All of us spoke with one another, crying and laughing, telling secrets and sharing old stories. It was one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking moments I'd ever had with my family, and I'd wished it would never end. But when my baby sister Maria soon fell asleep, followed by Sandra and then Rosa, I knew our time together was _truly_ nearing the end.

My mother gave me one last kiss and a hushed _Te amo_, and fell asleep on the living room couch. At this, my father took a strand of her and kissed it, holding her hand with his as he told me one last thing.

"You need to kill us with a knife. Do not waste any bullets on us—you know that. Aim for the head, and only use guns when you see no way out."

I nodded, now empty of any tears and emotions, being led only by logic in an attempt to save myself from the incoming slaughter.

"Take the dogs, Hades and Anubis. They were trained by me, and they'll be useful." I trusted my father's words, knowing he didn't play around with animals if they weren't useful or loyal to some extent.

When he began to nod off, he gave me a hug, nodding with appreciation. "I love you, Diana. Please, _live_." He smiled one last time at me, and he soon fell asleep beside my mother, never to awake again.

And when I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife I could find, hovering over and lovingly looking over my family. _I will live_, I forced myself to believe as I knelt towards Maria first, _Your deaths will not be in vain_.

The dogs whined at the strong scent of blood, but did not dare to attack me. Instead, they comforted me as I sobbed bloodied tears into their fur, and they followed me after I packed as much food as I could into my large army duffle bag and began to flee the now haunted apartment. I wiped away blood from my hands, becoming numb as the reality of what I'd done at that moment struck me.

I forced the emotion away once more, telling myself that it will be alright to mourn later, and looked towards shop windows. I watched as only dead eyes stared back at me.

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><p>As chaos roamed the city of Los Angeles, California, a lone figure and two short but fast moving bodies stepped out onto a fire-escape, breaking into and looting several stores. None of the undead heard the person, and any who dared to come too close to her were taken out by a quick slip of the knife. She moved with intent and purpose, perhaps to live or die, but as soon as she moved away from the city in a sleek black Prius, her desire became clear. She fled the city of Los Angeles, and for the next month, began traveling the single road while dodging corpses, gathering supplies, and hunting for food. She would eventually come upon Fort Benning in Georgia, hoping to serve her country in this existential crisis.<p>

What she came upon, however, was an absolute absence of any human life. She did not cry, nor did she turn back around. She looked through the crowds of the undead and spotted a ticket to the armory, and began to silently stalk towards the building.

She went unnoticed once more, and she stole as many pieces of weaponry and defense as her lithe arms could carry. She would continuously double back, until she would come across a group of four walkers, though she eventually took that small group out with her handgun.

She would soon decide that the danger was not worth the treasure trove waiting within that Fort, and later fled the area with her loyal companions until she would meet up with other survivors, each group more desperate than the last.

Each time, she would flee the groups she came upon until the number ran up to nine different bands. She never lost her will to live, however, and she never forgot the deaths of her family. The cities she would come upon were always empty of the living, though her dogs would always keep watch and help her survive the intense feeling of isolation. With each loss of the group in the months of the apocalypse, she would replenish her armory with newly acquired weapons from both military bases and weapon shops.

In one special week, however, she finally came across group number ten. She would come to cling to them like family, and provide much needed services to the people within it. Her dogs would finally receive a break, and she found that she could relax easily here, unlike with others.

The people, though obviously broken, fascinated the woman, and she helped to keep them alive with her military outlook on the undead. Her dogs would also contribute with tracking, hunting, and even as happy companions for many. Though her wits never ceased to surprise the members of the group, her sad expressions intrigued one specific member, and they would soon form an unlikely attachment.

And though there is always the chance of death, Diana never lost hope for a better future.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome back! I have many ideas to go with this storyline, and I can't wait to get them out there :) Once again, this entire story will be based on the television series, and any changes you see from the episodes are purposely altered to suit my needs. If any WD characters introduced are out of character, please excuse that, as I am either doing it intentionally or accidentally.**

**Thank you, my lovely first readers! You know who you are!**

**If you enjoy the story so far, don't forget to leave a review! **

**I don't own the Walking Dead, but I wish I did.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Moving On<strong>

I can't say that I recall anything after the incident. It was all just a blur—I had put myself into such a state of shock I could hardly function emotionally. The only thoughts that I could actively conceive of were to simply gather supplies, gather weapons, and find shelter, which were the basic human necessities in this world. I'm somewhat proud to say that my military training lent some aid to the situation at hand, but my survival is just a dumb luck.

I didn't even have anyone or anything to live for—except maybe my dogs. Even then, I thought that I'd save Hades and Anubis the trouble of taking care of me and let them live on their own. It's more than I deserve anyway.

_Quit feeling sorry for yourself. They wanted it, and they didn't want to hold you back. If you die, then what's the point of their sacrifice? _I thought, forcibly shaking my head out of those negative thoughts_. If keep myself in this depression, then there really is no surviving._

I tried my best to stay true to my identity, but in the senseless violence, I found that I reverted back to my military training. So, I kept a strict regimen for myself, as I felt that I needed some sort of stability. With a renewed sense of duty, I knew it was my responsibility as an American soldier to help people survive, and that's what I did. It's why I went looking for groups of people—I wanted to help.

I never stuck around for more than three weeks, though; Life was quickly dwindling and I felt I needed to find as many survivors as I could. With each group I came across, I would often spend countless hours helping old fathers and innocent teenagers prepare for a defense against the corpses, as none of us ever thought the day would come when we needed to defend ourselves against from what should be strangers passing us by uncaringly on the street. Some took to the violence well, and others did not, so much so that I knew that whatever knowledge they happened to gleam from me would only aid in their own deaths. So I'd smile and push them harder—I didn't want my efforts to be in vain.

"Every minute alive counts", I found myself saying.

Sometimes the training would go by without a hitch, and with others, hordes of corpses would show up unexpectedly and destroy life in seconds. I had no control whatsoever—and neither did anybody else. It seemed as if death was a constant, and that made me wary of the living. Any person could be corrupted by the chaos, including myself.

I'd come across people who were so violent that they were a danger to others as well as themselves, and I'd be forced to take them down. Some would sympathetically pat my back, while others would aggressively reprimand my actions and demand my absence.

I was all too happy to do so.

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><p>Despite the mass depression engulfing the world, I still found a way to learn new things. This made me appreciate not only life, but the world more, as the only thing that hadn't changed was the weather. I took solace in rolling thunderstorms and biting winds. I adored the green trees and the beauty of the wild. I loved any moment of silence, as I knew it could be my last. I eventually came to terms with my families' deaths, and truly understood that they wanted me to live—not in worry of everything, but in appreciation for what I had. I now saw that I had no need to be depressed and angry, and in this case, the truth really did set me free.<p>

Within months of the outbreak, I became more and more relaxed. I never became truly stress free, but with my family gone in the world, I found that I didn't have anyone to worry about. While I still continued my search for survivors, I kept myself a priority, no longer throwing caution to the wind. My dogs, I found, were less wary as well, though they still kept watch for incoming dead.

With their vigil, I felt safer than I had been in a long time. So, I felt that I had to reward myself and my dogs for our success in being alive as long as we had.

"Haven't had fresh meat in a while," I said aloud, looking towards my dogs. "You two would love something other than dried dog food, huh?"

Hades, the more animated of the two German Shepherds, stuck his head out of the open window of the car I'd been driving and howled. Anubis merely lolled his tongue in response, seemingly uncaring. I smiled at the silliness they provided, happy that dog food was a plenty for them—people only cared to feed themselves, and dared not touch pet products. _More for them_.

With my decision made to treat ourselves, I parked the hybrid black Prius on the crowded yet abandoned Georgia freeway, and took care to hide any weapons and valuable food stuffs out of prying eyes. I prepared my bags for a week long trek through the green woods and walked towards the forest, stepping off the pavement with no hesitation. Traps soon became laid for any potential food, and my tent was soon set up.

_No trouble so far._

I smiled once more, and began to play with my two dogs, throwing toys and watching as they played tug of war with a worn piece of rope through the trees. They pranced around, and I was determined to keep them healthy and happy.

I dusted myself off of dirt and removed my army jacket, choosing to wrap it around my waist before I would sweat myself to death. I grabbed my well-packed Army duffle bag before calling the dogs to my side. I strapped a sack of arrows to my back and kept a hunting bow in hand, as I knew guns were only asking for corpse trouble. I pet my dogs lovingly before stretching my arms towards the sky, determined to find myself a deer.

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><p>The first night out in the woods I could hardly sleep. Even though I'd come to terms with the deaths of my family, I found that nightmares still plagued my dreams. I recall one where my parents and sisters were throwing vulgar words and sometimes even objects at me, forcing me to relive their deaths over and over and <em>over<em> again.

"You should have given us a chance," was what my 19-year old sister Maria would say before falling to the floor in a puddle of her own fresh, shimmering blood.

"I know," I would sob back.

And then I would wake up with fresh tears trailing down my cheeks and two whining German Shepherds at my side, comforting me as if they'd had the same dream.

I could never be more grateful for those dogs, as they're what kept me safe and sane when I needed it the most. I had once read somewhere that they prioritized human emotions over that of other dogs, and this loyalty was something that I deeply admired. Hades and Anubis, both male, both sleek and fast, even saved my neck a couple of times. They'd bark once for incoming corpses, twice for entire groups, and three times and more to draw their attention away from me. Each time I nearly collapsed in fear of their deaths, and each time they would come back to me when I'd lost hope, blood soaking their muzzles. And this led me to the issue of the dead—I always marveled at my dogs' ability to bite and kill the deceased and not become infected, but I consistently made sure to scrub their mouths clean to be safe. This made me wonder if the disease was something that only affected humans, as whenever I'd come across the half-eaten torso of a bull, the animal itself hadn't turned.

I counted this as a blessing, as with less things trying to kill me out in the world, the longer I could live—both me and my dogs. _For them._

I stepped out of my tent not too long afterwards, looking to breathe fresh air. My dogs followed me, watching my moves silently. I sighed, drying the tears that streaked my face with my shirt. I glanced at the full moon in the sky, feeling the calm in the air relax my heightened senses.

"_Whatever God wants from this, I believe the message is to survive and live," _echoed the words of my father.

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><p>I was walking through this seemingly endless forest this lovely Georgia morning, hunting some <em>damn animal that just had to set off fifty of my fucking traps without getting caught <em>when I stumbled across an odd scene. And when I meant odd, I meant odder than dead people coming back to life as cannibals.

My dogs didn't even bark at it—they just curiously looked at the being passed out on the muddied ground, it was so odd. So when I surveyed the forest for the person that shot an arrow in his side, I couldn't find a damn thing. From what I could tell, the very area I was standing on was how he got down there—there was no other explanation. Behind me I'd noticed several grooves in the dirt, which previously made me think I finally had a solid lead to the animal that destroyed my traps. Now, though, it only confirmed as to how he got to his predicament in this lovely patch of woods.

How he'd survived this far was beyond me.

"Stay." I relayed towards Hades and Anubis, who'd immediately sat still at my command.

I figured I'd do that man the decency of killing him (if he wasn't already dead from the fall) to keep him from turning, so I decided to go down there myself. I quickly retrieved a strong line of rope from my pack, and easily tied it around the truck of a nearby tree. I adjusted my black sports gloves, and yanked on the rope to make sure it was secure, afterwards tying it around my waist. I began to carefully jump downwards from tree to tree, though I did have the occasional misstep of the foot.

When I finally reached the bottom of the caved-in portion of the woods, I found that it was peaceful—much more so than other parts of the forest.

_Interesting, as most parts of the world are always touched by the living dead. _

I turned my eyes to nearby trees, and was glad when I could not detect any potentially harmful movement. I soon pulled out a hunting knife from my belt, intent on examining the man in front of me.

I made sure to poke the man's side, and when no movement came about, I put my index and middle fingers to the carotid artery in his neck. _Cold…but there's a faint a pulse there. He's lucky I got here when I did. _

I made sure to look over the arrow in his side, and though I had no clue to where the arrow had come from, I knew it couldn't be mine. I always catalogued my armory, especially my stock of arrows, obsessively—there wasn't much else to do when you couldn't get on the internet. Finding that hunting bow and arrow three months ago was a relief, as it was too risky to get too close to groups of corpses with only a hunting knife. Guns and bullets themselves were too loud, and would only attract more trouble. Needless to say, I had a ton of practice with that bow and I eventually became a damn near expert, so this man's situation couldn't be a misfire from an arrow of mine.

I concluded that this either happened from a shoot and run (highly unlikely, considering it would've been smarter to finish the job) or this just happened from his fall.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to forget the mystery, as there was an injured man who seemed to kind of need my help. I gently tapped the tip of his nose to get him to wake up. Couldn't punch the man if I didn't want him to panic—he'd definitely tear himself up if he moved around too much.

"Fucking Merle. Quit it." I heard him mutter. By the slight twang in his voice, he sounded like a Georgia native—really not uncommon. I hadn't come by any other accents in my time here, so it didn't really surprise me. _He's probably dreaming_, I later thought.

"Hey, my name's not Merle, it's Diana." I responded.

He seemed to not hear me, and only opened his eyes towards the comment, though they remained unseeing. He mumbled a vague, "You sound like a bitch."

My form stilled, and I could barely keep myself from laughing. I'd heard far worse things in my training in the Air Force—the words didn't even phase me.

"Call me a bitch all you want, but that won't stop me from calling you a dipshit for getting yourself into this mess," I retorted before poking at the arrow protruding from his torso.

He seemed to realize these words were far too real, and from the wince that crossed his face, he clearly felt my little jab, as he soon came to his senses. "Who the hell're you!?" He demanded, trying to force himself up from the ground. The man found that he could not move much, as my arm was on his chest, thus forcing him to stay low on the floor.

My gaze hardened slightly, unsure if I could trust him not to try and attack me. I used the most tranquil voice I could muster when I told him to, "Calm down. I'm not trying to hurt you—you did enough of that yourself. I was just strolling by when I found you like this."

He growled at me, "I don't know why you didn't kill me, but I ain't stickin' 'round to find out." He threw his weight up at me, making me lean backwards to look up at him as he forced my arm away.

"Can you even kill a lady?" I questioned, knowing that most men in this end of times believed that they had to protect every woman they came across.

"You try to kill me and you'll find out." He stated bluntly.

I shrugged. "Fair enough. But just so you know, if you can't trust the person, trust in the uniform," I said, gesturing to my dirtied camo military attire. I had several of the same uniforms, so if one was ruined, I was glad to have a spare. The jacket and pants did well with hiding in the forest, and the pure intimidation factor it came with was wonderful to scare people from attacking me.

I expected that he'd relax when seeing my apparel, but instead, his eyes narrowed, and he lunged at me, spitting, "Do you know what the fuck we're dealing with here!? This is the apocalypse! It ain't a damn rodeo—you and the rest of the U.S. military were 'sposed to—"

I suspected he had more words to say, so I stopped him there, "Trust me, we didn't know as much as you think we knew. Most of us were scared and wanted to go back home, and most of us died, just like you civilians. So shut your damn trap and know that things aren't always what they seem."

His posture didn't relax, but when I got up from my position on the ground, he didn't try to continue speaking. _Good_, I thought. _It's better than him yelling to kingdom come._

I sighed, "I saw that you had an arrow in your side, so I thought I'd put you out before you became…corpsy. To my surprise, you were alive, and here we are." I threw my arms in the air to emphasize my point, gesturing between our distant bodies.

He scoffed, "Ain't nobody that'd help a person without some kinda game plan."

I frowned, but found truth in his point. "I agree, but what would I want with this?" I questioned, pointing to his pale (yet surprisingly fit) form. He looked horrible, dirt covering each inch of his skin, and sweat glistening down and staining his clothing. This man could have been considered handsome, though I guess the apocalypse always messed up personal appearances in favor of survival. "You're injured—what would I use you for?"

He looked away at this, refusing to answer my question. Taking it as a win in my book, I surveyed my surroundings once more, after hearing my dogs growl. The man turned towards the sound in tense curiosity, only to look towards the cliff where my two dogs lay.

"My dogs think something's nearby—they don't make a single sound unless something dangerous is close," I said to him just as the telltale dragging of feet and gurgling sound of the dead came near. "You're shouting attracted some crazies—hopefully it'll just be a couple."

I looked towards the water, watching as the dead strode along the wet dirt while making their way towards us. I had counted three—_easy enough_, I thought.

"I'll take them." Before he could even protest, I'd already drawn my hunting bow from my back and expertly pierced the incoming skull of a corpse.

"Stay still—I didn't join the military and survive that just to die," I stated, but even at that comment, he ignored my request and began to tug at the arrow in his side, before pulling it through with a muffled shout. Worried he'd make irreparable damage, I strode towards him without thinking. "Stop! You'll hurt yourself more!"

With my back turned, I only saw the shadow of the corpse before it quickly fell on top me. I'd panicked slightly, but found my struggles were useless when I realized that _the thing was dead_ from the very arrow pulled from the man's side.

From my resumed position on the ground, I barely caught the hint of a smirk before he himself tumbled from the football tackle of the third dead man. I grabbed the hunting knife I seemed to have dropped earlier, and began to make my way towards the man to help him out when Hades and Anubis emerged from the cliff I'd left them on. They sped their way towards the corpse, and quickly tackled it off from the man, dispatching it with wild growls and a simple snap of the jaws.

"Dogs are handy," said the man, somewhat impressed by the agility and strength of the German Shepherds.

I grinned proudly at my boys, before calling them to the lake to wash out their mouths. "Damn straight."

I unlaced my shoes, intent on getting at a well-deserved foot soaking while I cleaned my dogs. I walked towards the bed of water, and soon paused my advancements as soon as I felt a hard object touch the bottom of my feet. I bent down, getting the front of my shirt wet before finding the foreign object.

I stared at the sleek black crossbow before holding it up and proclaiming, "This is yours, right?" The man look stunned for a second there, and replied with a mumble of confirmation. "It has to have arrows—they around here somewhere?" I continued, searching the same area for a container of arrows.

He strode towards the water, looking intent on finding them himself, though not before he took the crossbow from my arms with averted eyes and a quiet, "Thanks."

I gave a half-smile, replying with a hushed "You're welcome." I paused not too long into the search for arrows when a question came to mind. "What's your name?" I asked.

The man's body stilled for a second, though he stopped and looked up at me. He looked silly, as he was clearly soaked from his dive into the deeper sections of the water. From the only few minutes that we'd met, it made me grin at him, as I'd only seen his tough exterior.

He gazed into my eyes for the smallest miniscule of time, and I felt as if he was searching for any ulterior motives or just genuine curiosity. Judging by the eventual release of tension in his shoulders, I believed he saw something he could trust when he soon replied "Daryl. Daryl Dixon."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N****: Unfortunately, I got a little bit stuck with this chapter as I was studying for finals, which lead to an unnecessary amount of frustration. HOWEVER, this is the last chapter of the year of 2014! As a New Year's Resolution, I vow to increase my skills as a FF writer and regularly upload chapters. Anyway, I hope you, my lovely readers, enjoy what I have written. **** I do not own The Walking Dead, but I do own Diana! Please review and share this story. Happy Holidays!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Dora<strong>

"**To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace.****"**

**~George Washington**

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><p><em>Previously…<em>

_He gazed into my eyes for the smallest miniscule of time, and I felt as if he was searching for any ulterior motives or just genuine curiosity. Judging by the eventual release of tension in his shoulders, I believed he saw something he could trust when he soon replied "Daryl. Daryl Dixon."_

Because I felt the need for our tenuous trust to be nurtured, I extended my hand out in greeting. There was a lesser need to be cautious, and I wanted to get into his good graces as quickly as possible, just in case the dead came walking and I needed support.

I spoke with confidence and a light tilt to my voice, being as polite as I would to any stranger. "I'm Diana, in case you didn't hear it when you were dreaming." I smiled as he extended and grasped my hand in his, pleasantly surprised by the firmness of his hand. My dad always said a handshake could tell a lot about a person, and I'd carried that belief later into my years. Daryl seemed like the reliable kind of guy, and with my dogs sniffing around him without worry, I felt my gut was right.

Daryl frowned at my information and stated a bland "What?"

I shrugged, offering the simplest explanation I could, "You were mumbling something about Merle when I found you."

Daryl's form stilled, and his eyes lighted in quick recognition before he shook his head and turned his body away from me. "Do me a favor and forget about it."

I recognized his defeated posture, knowing it as one I too had worn. I went along with his request, as there was no need to break this fragile trust so soon. "Mention what?" Daryl turned around at this, nodding his head in thanks before he narrowed his eyes right over my shoulder.

Confused, I moved away when he pushed past me with a determined look etched upon his face. Daryl was making his way out of the knee deep part of the water and towards the moistened ground when I spotted what I believed is what he saw.

A stuffed rabbit.

Disbelief set in, and I wondered what a grown man could possibly want with such a toy. I cocked my head in a thoughtful gesture, calculating the rabbit's significance.

_Could belong to a daughter or son, or even a sibling._

I stopped my movements towards the muddied earth, reigning in the chaotic emotions the thought brought. _Relax_, I told myself. _It's not Maria's-she's gone, and you know that. She preferred teddy bears anyway._

I hoped that whomever the toy belongs to, that they probably just lost it. Children need something to hold onto in this world more than anybody else.

"Does that belong to you?" I asked to shake myself from sadness. "I'd expected a grown man to be out of that stage by now." Daryl huffed at my jab towards his masculinity as he picked the doll up and scrutinized it.

He stayed silent for a minute, repeatedly looking back between the doll and myself. He seemed to be debating what to tell me, and could not come to a conclusion.

"You're not obligated to tell me anything," I stated. "I came to either put you out or help you. Nothing beyond that."

Daryl walked towards me, an apparent decision made. "Things ain't so simple anymore." He threw me the doll with a quick flick of the wrist, startling me with the action.

The rabbit's weight settled in the palm of my hand, its coarse fur uncomfortably scratching at my skin. It was dirtied and torn at places, though I suspected it was from its time in the woods and not from the owner themselves. _My sisters even took better care of their toys than this._ I quickly moved my gaze from the doll to Daryl, uncomfortable by it's reminder of my family.

"What do you need?" I asked, offering my assistance despite the sick and ominous feeling I seemed to get from the stuffed animal.

Daryl visibly steeled himself to look straight into my eyes, and I tensed at the utter seriousness he conveyed. His gaze dropped to my dogs soon after, watching as Hades and Anubis chased each other and growled playfully in the shallow part of the water. "They took down that walker, and I'd bet it wasn't the first time," he finally said.

I nodded at his statement, intent on being patient with him. "They've saved my neck more times than I could count, and they're smart dogs. They do only what I tell them, when I tell them."

Daryl grew confident once more, and asked, "Can they track?"

I paused at his question, not entirely sure what he was getting at. I tentatively answered as best I could, "I was with an old man a few weeks ago, and I lost him somewhere in a city for a few hours after the dead came by. I'd been with him for about two weeks, and my dogs knew him well enough. So, we went looking for him. I'm not entirely sure how they did it, but my dogs picked out his scent and I got him to safety within a few hours." Granted, the situation was a bit more complicated than that (two words: the dead), but Daryl really only need the important bits.

I contemplated the doll in my hand. He's been asking about my dogs and if they can track… and this toy obviously belongs to some girl. I paused, and my mind seemed to go blank at my next statement.

"You lost somebody, didn't you?"

He seemed somewhat relieved that he didn't have to say the words aloud, as if admitting it would mean failing somebody. _Maybe that Merle guy_ _he was dreaming about_… _or himself._

"I've been lookin' for her for about two weeks, now. The trail is cold, and the group," here, Daryl scowled and ground his teeth in frustration, "the group is gonna be pissed."

I lifted my hands in a mock surrender, "I won't ask to be taken to your group if you think I wouldn't be welcome. But if you truly need my help—mine and my dogs—then I'm willing to offer it." I relaxed my previously stiff posture, almost silently wishing that I be introduced to his group. I'd promised myself that I'd help people in any way I could, and this lost kid was a perfect example of what I could offer.

"The group ain't gonna be happy to hear about this." Daryl said, "But this girl needs to be found." By this time, I had handed the bunny back to him, and he tucked into his pants. He quickly tore the sleeves off of his long-sleeved shirt, and began tying it around his punctured torso. He didn't complain about the pain, but I saw his jaw muscles jump as he grinded his teeth.

"Quit that." I said as I began making my way towards the beginning of the muddied steep slope, "I have a first aid kit in the pack I left up there. You should fix yourself up before we start doing anything."

I grabbed the long piece of rope I'd left for my convenience, and I tied it around my waist, making sure my weapons were fastened securely to my form before pulling and climbing my way up the incline. "Try not to do anything too taxing—that arrow pierced you straight through, and I assume because you're still standing, it hasn't pierced any organs." I called after a few minutes of climbing.

"Damn woman won't let me do anything," I heard him mutter.

I smirked. "You know I'm right! You're just asking for trouble if you hurt yourself further!" I replied, finally reaching my pack that I'd dropped earlier. I fished out my first aid kit, and threw it over the drop towards Daryl.

I allowed him a few minutes to dress his wound, while I fixed my tussled appearance and picked at the dirt under my fingernails. "You done?" I asked, looking down towards him. He seemed to have just finished bandaging his side, and he called up at me to, and I quote, "Get off my back! I don't need you babying me!"

I frowned, surprised by the harshness of his tone. _Seems he really doesn't like getting help_, I thought. "Words can hurt, Daryl, and you're lucky I'm tougher to break than most. But, since you really don't need me help, I'll just sit here, chill, and watch as you fail in climbing this thing." I bluntly stated, patting the ground next to me as soon as I sat down for emphasis.

I fished out a pack of jerky from my duffle bag, choosing to enjoy the show he would surely present. A second later, I whistled, beckoning my dogs to come to my side. Hades and Anubis raced up past Daryl, easily pawing their way up to my form.

I could have sworn I saw a tick form above his brow, but I was too far away to be sure.

"Ya ain't gonna throw me down the rope?" He questioned with visible frustration.

I shrugged. "You said you didn't need my help. The rope came with me, so I figured you didn't need that either."

Just as anticipated, a string of curses flew from Daryl's mouth when he realized his predicament, and he began climbing the hill with the likely intent to murder.

Of course, I wasn't going to leave an injured man to climb this thing without help, but he needed to understand that I wasn't gonna take his shit lying down. After watching him struggle for a few minutes (he was, surprisingly, making progress, which is a feat in and of itself), I threw the rope his way.

After a brief pause, he grabbed it, and I began tugging on it to help him get back up here. "If ya were gonna help me out—" here he groaned at the physical effort it took to climb "—then why didn't ya give me the rope in the first place?" Getting one final tug in, Daryl's knees buckled as soon as he hit the now even ground. He panted, clearly exhausted from the amount of pain he had to endure.

I quirked a brow at his question. "Yelling at a woman?" I touched my right hand to my heart, mocking an offended lady, "How rude!" I dropped my hand before smirking meaningfully. "Just don't do it again, or I won't be so kind next time."

Daryl rolled his eyes before sarcastically replying, "Sorry, chica."

I laughed. "Well, country boy, I can't wait to see the next nickname that you come up with."

"Don't get used to it." Daryl picked himself up off the ground, trudging unsteadily towards me. "Let's get this show on the road."

I grabbed my duffle bag and slung it over my shoulder. "If you don't mind, I'd like to make a quick stop. Before I met you, I was tracking a corpse or animal that set off my traps, and I wanna see if it got to any others." Here I began walking towards my chosen direction when I noticed he was not following behind me. "What?" Daryl gave a chuckle, knowing something I obviously didn't. For the second time, I repeated, "What?"

"Those traps were yours? I set off every one I could find—some even had rabbits and squirrels. I'd figured they were set by others in the group, but they were too well hidden and made for it to be them. Weren't even mine—I would know." There was a compliment somewhere in there, but my disbelief overshadowed anything I could've gleamed from his comment.

I grumbled, "All this time I'd been looking for an animal or _the fucking dead, _and it's really just a—" I was so enraged my words flew into Spanish here, and Daryl looked on in clear amusement. _Idiot was probably happy he did that—revenge for the shitty rope trick._

After a few minutes of crushing twigs and stomping around the forest floor, I brushed strands of hair back from my face, and turned back around to face Daryl. "Not funny. I was hoping it was a deer!"

His self-righteous grin was eating me alive and he knew it, too. I growled, throwing up my hands. "Alright God! Smite me before I kill this son of a bitch!"

Daryl sighed, though traces of a smirk still lingered on his face. "If God was here, he'd tell ya to shut your yapping and follow Daryl." He nodded his head and turned his body away from me, and began walking with a purpose.

I allowed myself a minute of cooling down before I went trotting towards his figure, amused at the playfulness our banter seemed to exude. I glanced down at the sports watch donning my left wrist, realizing that the time hit noon. I hadn't even realized I'd been in his company for so long. I smiled at this —the man was interesting. Daryl came across tough and independent, but I figured I'd come across his soft side soon enough.

We'd spent a while in silence before I even thought to ask him if he was hungry. I offered him jerky and water, and he took it almost greedily. This made me wonder how long he was down there, and I voiced this concern.

Daryl shrugged. "Passed out as soon as I hit the ground. I'd bet it was two hours before I came to." He stuffed his mouth once more, seemingly regaining his energy just as quickly as I was firing off questions.

"How'd you get down there? How'd you get hurt? What's your group like?" I felt heat creep up my neck, but I could barely suppress it. I hadn't had the pleasure of human company for about a month, and I was sure I was annoying the man. Even the dogs hung around him excitedly, brushing against his legs as often as I was asking questions.

He seemed patient, though, and satisfied from the food and drink. He pet the head of Hades as he answered my inquiries. "I was lookin' for our lost girl when I spotted somethin' down near the pond. I got knocked off of the horse I was ridin' when a snake popped up. It got spooked," he scowled at this, "and an arrow fell out of my grip and went clean through me."

I whistled. "That's some serious bad luck."

He snorted in agreement. "Got this out of it though," Daryl said, patting the stuffed rabbit still tucked into his pants. "It's a new lead. Cuts our grid almost by half."

I was relieved at his dedication to finding the girl—if she was still alive, she was with good country people. "Good. The girl must really be wanted back home if you'd been searching for two weeks. Most would've given up by now."

Daryl scoffed. "Some want to. Pricks don't even care too much anymore."

I blinked my eyes slowly, understanding why they would abandon a search for a girl, but somewhat angry at their gall in leaving someone behind. "How old is she?" I asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Twelve, probably. Doesn't have any weapons from what we know, but Sophia's smart. I found a few trails and places where she's slept, but can't find much else."

I took in this information, thoughtful. "I wish I had seen her. Would've made things much easier, but like you said, things aren't so simple anymore." I thought of the massive amounts of lives lost, both children and adults. I wondered about her possible family, feeling a slight connection with the lost child and my lonely self. "Her mom and dad—are they…" I trailed off, hoping there was someone out there for her to come back to.

Daryl glanced back at me, probably noticing my slight hysteria with the topic. "Sofia's mom is alive, but she's losin' hope everyday. Can't let that happen—most of us are tryin' hard to find her." I sighed in relief at her mother's survival, though Daryl's tone took on a harsh quality following his next statement, "Her old man's dead, but he was an asshole. Beat on his family and scared the group every time he came around."

I nearly choked on my spit, I was not expecting that. "Good riddance—people need to feel safe in their homes more than anywhere." I closed my eyes, almost tired with what Sophia has had to endure—both her father and being lost. I missed the flinch that happened to cross his face at that statement.

When I reopened my eyes, I noticed we were walking at a much slower pace than what we'd started at. I glanced at him, studying his slumped form and pale skin pallor. I smacked my face in a brief moment of stupidity, before declaring that I that needed a break. _He probably doesn't like feeling weak, even if his injuries are serious._

I threw myself on the floor, reaffirming my "tiredness." My dogs paused as well, trotting back before deciding to lay down beside me. Daryl shrugged, choosing leaning against a tree a couple feet away from me.

I sighed, feeling sudden waves of exhaustion creep over me. It was an eventful morning, and I felt that things were only going to get more stressful. My thoughts went to Daryl, and I risked taking a peek at him. I found that I wasn't the only one appraising a stranger as I met his gaze. I wondered if my willingness to help his group made me worth more in his eyes. I turned my head at this, physically shaking the thought out of my head. _Doesn't matter what he thinks, so long as we both get out of this alive, _I thought. However, I soon began to roll the conversations we've had so far, I found something odd. Daryl was actually somewhat… nice, despite the yelling incident earlier. He was aloof, and he only revealed what was necessary, making me admire his cautiousness. Trust is a fragile thing, and I'd be suspicious if he suddenly threw his life story at me.

"You're friendlier than I thought you'd be," I said. His brow furrowed, and I hastened to explain further, "You don't look like the kind of guy that would take a stranger in like this. I'm part of the military, and you already let me know how…angry you were with us. Forgive me if I can't guess your game plan here."

Daryl snorted, "I'd recognize military people anywhere, and you're definitely army. Look, you killed a geek back there and could've killed me," he scoffed at this, "but ya seem decent enough. Healthy, too. You've either got some place to stay that we don't know about or you've managed to survive on your own with damn good luck. Can't afford to get on your bad side if ya know others."

I nodded at his response, impressed by his knowledge. "Nobody can trust anybody these days—civilians couldn't rely on us when they needed us, so how do we expect the same?" I grabbed a stick and poked at it in the dirt, shameful of our apparent inability to provide safety. "But I don't have anywhere I hole up in. The bases I've check out are gone, and I've been looking for groups since the outbreak started. I found some, and I taught them the basics of surviving before leaving and doing the same with others. It's just 'damn good luck,'" I quoted back at him.

Daryl shook his head, unable to say anything. I couldn't blame him. That's a lot to take in—there truly is no safe place. I still had trouble with the thought myself.

"Fucking hell." He cursed. "Know anything about Fort Benning?"

I shook my head, bowing my head in disappoint. "That place is gone—I was on leave before they ordered air strikes against U.S. cities, and I didn't know what happened afterwards. I came back there hoping to help out, but the place reeked of the dead and gunpowder. There was no one left alive."

Daryl shook his head and punched the tree he was previously leaning against in a bout of anger. "Then we'd better head back to my group. We can't go on hoping for something that don't exist anymore." He sounded just as beaten as I felt.

I appeased his request, getting up from the muddied ground. Curiosity for his group came back at full force as soon as he mentioned them, making me inquire, "Your group—they trigger happy? Should I be worried?"

Daryl limped forward, looking as if the break had done nothing but wear him out more. I nearly flinched—if he was bleeding out, then I shouldn't have made us take a break. _It's already done—move past it_, I told myself.

He turned his head halfway, offering a word of advice. "Keep your weapons off of ya. Ya look military, but most of them probably won't trust that. Stay behind me, and maybe they won't go off on ya." He added as an afterthought, "Your dogs, too."

_Great_, I thought. _Just when I couldn't get anymore stressed today._

"Give me a sec, then." I opened my duffle bag, retrieving a thick black Kevlar vest. I strapped on over my tank, reacquainting myself with the heavy weight it presented. Daryl's brows jumped, not expecting such an item.

"What the hell ya got in there, Dora?" He asked incredulously.

I chuckled. "Just a little bit of everything. I've had time to raid and collect what I could—it was the pick of the litter when everything went to hell." I zipped my army jacket over my form, effectively hiding it. "You said 'maybe,' and I don't exactly trust that. It's not a weapon, but I like feeling safe and _alive_." I nodded and adjusted my posture to become the once familiar stiff demeanor, and beckoned Daryl to continue to lead the way with a slight of hand.

He nodded approvingly, his eyes taking in the formal military wear. "Let's hope you stay alive, Diana."

The use of my name for the first time startled me, but something told me not only would we get along for the upcoming search party, but beyond that as well. I smiled fully, and responded similarly, "Same to you, Daryl.

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><p>Andrea knew she had more to offer to the group than what she'd been given. Hell, back in the mountains, she'd snatched up a couple of ladyfish along with her sister to feed the group. Andrea scowled in her perch up on Dale's RV—Lorie only ever let her take care of laundry or cooking.<p>

_The world doesn't only belong to men_, she thought. _Just because they know how to handle more than a couple walkers by themselves doesn't mean I can't do the same. _

It's why Andrea always fought to get on the front lines. She didn't believe in staying home and watching the world change. Andrea wanted to be a part of it—it's why she chose to become a civil rights lawyer. She lived to win cases to achieve total equality, for both minorities _and_ women. Andrea would be damned first if she didn't carry that over into this apocalypse. So when she saw a limping figure emerge from the shadowed thicket and into the tall grass of the field, Andrea put no hesitance into announcing its arriving with the loud bark of "Walker!"

Andrea threw herself onto her belly, readying her gun as her heart beat in tune with the men's shouts. Rick lead the men to confront the walker, but a thought crept into her head at that auspicious moment.

_I can stop this right now and none of them will even have the chance to get hurt._

Andrea smiled, eager to prove her worth as a valuable member of the group. _The walker will be dead before they know it, and I can prove that this group doesn't need to rely on you people all the time._

She looked down her rifle's scope and pulled back the safety switch, watching as the dirtied figure slumped and stumbled towards the men. Andrea scowled, however, as it conveniently made its way into the glare of the sunlight. She sighed. _Now or never_, and pulled the trigger.

Andrea smiled triumphantly as the walker went down. Her brow furrowed, however, as a second walker began sprinting towards the men. _Another one? Let's see if we can stop this herd while I'm up here._

She readied her rifle for another round and shot it at the surprisingly agile walker once more, mumbling a quick _yes_ as soon as it felt to the ground. Two smaller figures came bounding after it, and the oddity had Andrea feel that something was terribly wrong. When Rick began screaming and waving at Andrea to stop, her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Andrea climbed down the RV, running towards what she believed were the fallen walkers.

Andrea stopped short when they lifted Daryl's body, his weight supported on each shoulder by Glenn and Rick. Blood caked the left half of his face, but head wounds had the tendency to look more serious than they actually were. Andrea breathed a sigh of relief as he mumbled a statement to Rick.

"There's someone here—a woman. She ain't dangerous, but she's got a couple things ya wanna here."

Rick paused, but seemed to trust Daryl's judgment of the newcomer. Rick insisted that Shane take his place in supporting Daryl's weight, and with a few more minutes of insisting, Shane helped Daryl while T-Dog followed to help explain the situation to Hershel back at the farmhouse.

Rick turned back around, and Andrea scoured the rest of the field for the fallen walker, and the long forgotten sound of dogs' barking and whining filled the area. A head soon popped out from the grass, though it breathed harshly.

"Are you alright!?" Andrea questioned as soon as she came near her person. Two German Shepherds barked and growled, startling Andrea, and she hastened to back away.

The woman groaned as she picked herself up off of the floor. She lifted her hand to the middle of her chest, the telltale bullet hole seen in her clothing. Andrea's eyes widened, recognizing the military uniform as her gaze drifted to the patch labeled _Air Force_. Fear struck Andrea, making her break out into a cold sweat despite the summer heat. Andrea thought with dismay that she ruined the group's only chance to find true safety, and nearly screamed for help until she heard a sharp whistle permeate the humid air.

The whistle immediately calmed the rowdy German Shepherds, who ducked back to the woman's side. Soon after came sound of a woman, blandly stating, "Relax. I'm not hurt—other than my pride, of course. God, that's gonna bruise in the morning."

Andrea stuttered, astonished by her living countenance. _I_ _shot her! How is she still alive!?_ She questioned internally. Diana chuckled as Andrea pointed at her punctured jacket and struggled to form appropriate words. "Bulletproof vest. I put it on before I came here, just in case. Thank God I did." Andrea's eyes widened. _If she was able to get her hands on that kind of protection…then what kind of weapons does she have?_ She thought.

The woman pushed herself up from the ground unsteadily, clutching her chest and breathing in huge gulps of air. Andrea glanced over the aforementioned individual, and though the uniform covered much of her figure, she looked lively and in peak physical condition despite her ruffled appearance. Yet it was her eyes that caught Andrea's total attention; velvet brown in nature, they seemed to take in an almost absurd amount of detail of the surrounding area. The rich color settled in on Andrea's face, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Diana seemed unharmed, even if the shadows in her eyes and subsequent dark circles suggested otherwise. Andrea smiled wanly, but her movements towards her ceased when Rick began to speak.

"Look, I appreciate that you helped Daryl out with the condition that he's in, but if you're expectin' some kinda payment, then you've come to the wrong place," Rick sighed, but his eyes never strayed from the stranger. "But seein' as you've just been shot at, then we owe you somethin'. Medical attention would be best, judgin' by the way you're breathin'."

The woman smiled. "I only had the wind knocked out of me, but the Daryl over there should get the attention. He's in rough shape." She pointedly looked at Rick's face while Andrea ducked her head shamefully. "I'm Diana." She said after a beat of silence.

Rick extended his hand out, and Diana shook it. "Rick Grimes, and this is Andrea."

Andrea stepped forward, hurriedly stating, "I'm sorry about uh… shooting at you. You looked like a walker from my vantage point, but I'll do what I can to make it up to you." Andrea smiled awkwardly, and shook Diana's hand as well.

"Good shot, but next time aim higher if you're really looking to kill something." Diana said. "I'd prefer if there wasn't a repeat, though." She added. Rick looked at Andrea, silently admonishing her for the shooting, making her look away in shame.

Diana sighed, "I know this may look a bit odd…" she gestured to her uniform, "but I can tell you that any information that I have to provide is true. I am, or more accurately _was, _a part of the U.S. Air Force for many years. I know how to handle my own, and I've actually travelled here from California to help people with fighting the dead and finding any kind of refuge."

Andrea's brows jumped. "California? You're a long way from home, then." She said.

Diana exhaled, "My home is my car, now. I made it my job to help people and prepare them for whatever comes knocking on their doors."

Rick inclined his head in agreement, stating, "I've been working with my group to find safety, and it's been tough only dealing with ourselves. You said you travelled—come across any groups?"

Diana nodded. "This is actually my tenth group, but considering that the number is spread across a couple of states, it's not impressive." Rick frowned, alarmed by the potential threat she had to the group. Diana noticed his sudden stiffness, and tentatively said, "I leave each group as soon as possible, with the longest I allow myself to stay being three weeks. This is so I can find people more quickly, and help where help is needed."

Andrea smiled broadly, believing she had a lot of potential to bring to the farm. She looked at Rick, encouraging him to allow her to be a part of the group.

"With you being a part of the military and finding these people…have you checked out any bases? Does safety exist?" Rick asked in a careful tone.

Diana's face was schooled into a mask of neutrality as she stated, "Daryl actually asked me about this, about Fort Benning. That base is gone, and from what I checked out in other areas, and I checked out _many_ cities and bases, no. No there isn't."

Andrea sighed as the previous hope she held came crashing down and into a pit of darkness. "Of course. That would be too easy," Andrea remarked sullenly.

Rick ran his hand down his face in visible frustration, "Something tells me you've got something more than that to say."

Diana grinned. "You'd be right. I found Daryl in a tight spot, and he told me that this group is missing a girl. I'm here to help you find her." She grimaced and put a hand over her eyes, blocking out the sunlight. "Now can we please get out of this heat so I can actually be of some use?"

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><p><strong>AN: I would love some feedback, so please let me know what you want to see in the story, or just any guesses you may have for Diana's future :)**

**Don't forget to review!**


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